


Blood in the Aether

by StrangelySmitten (BotanyCameos)



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics)
Genre: Can be seen as friendship fic only or as pre-slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Deathfic aspects, Gen, M/M, Still nothing too shocking if you're used to the horrors that happen to DS in canon., though some of the bleeding etc. descriptions might be more detailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BotanyCameos/pseuds/StrangelySmitten
Summary: 616-Earth, not MCU.(The comics version of the characters, rather than the MCU one. Although it has a couple of MCU references. And one could always mix the settings of both and imagine the MCU characters if they prefer.)I love both the comics and MCU versions of the characters, and some stuff in the comics made me get the urge to write this...)It’s not necessary to read the comics to understand it, but the fic references the recent issues of the Dr Strange comics (2015 run, specifically issue #16 that came out in late January 2017), and the Mordo redemption arc from 1996 (issues 85-86-87 of the Dr Strange Sorcerer Supreme comics).It basically starts out with the exact events from #16, but Strange is more heavily injured than he was in the comics.(Also, warning: character(s) death(s), but it’s comic books, so people die and come back a lot.)Many thanks to Basil (Meowrails) for the beta! :D





	

**Author's Note:**

> **616-Earth, not MCU.** (The comics version of the characters, rather than the MCU one. Although it has a couple of MCU references. And one could always mix the settings of both and imagine the MCU characters if they prefer.)  
>  I love both the comics and MCU versions of the characters, and some stuff in the comics made me get the urge to write this...)
> 
> It’s not necessary to read the comics to understand it, but the fic references the recent issues of the Dr Strange comics (2015 run, specifically issue #16 that came out in late January 2017), and the Mordo redemption arc from 1996 (issues 85-86-87 of the Dr Strange Sorcerer Supreme comics).
> 
>  **It basically starts out with the exact events from #16, but Strange is more heavily injured than he was in the comics.**  
>  (Also, warning: character(s) death(s), but it’s comic books, so people die and come back a lot.)  
>  
> 
> Many thanks to Basil (Meowrails) for the beta! :D
> 
> * * *

 

 

He’d fought Dormammu out of sheer desperation, out of duty, out of the knowledge that no matter how weakened he may be, he was the last shield standing against the darkness, the only thing between his helpless planet and the destroyer of worlds.

 

For a while there, as he unleashed everything he possibly could in a panicked attempt to save humanity and the world, he'd been certain that it wasn't enough and that they were doomed.

Even if he hadn't been so injured by Dormammu and the barrage of attacks he’d been facing all week, the damage the Empirikul had done to his universe had already left him with barely any magic.

It wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough, especially against such a foe.

But he'd always known that this was bound to be his fate sooner or later: keep fighting as long as you can, and when you can't anymore, die trying.

It was a thing he’d accepted long ago, before he swore his oaths to the sorcerer’s code in the presence of the Ancient One. He always knew he would die a violent death. He had hoped it wouldn't be today, but as he cast the last spell he could muster, and saw that it wasn't enough, he understood.

He was only glad that Wong and Zelma probably weren't nearby. Maybe Wong would be able to escape with her through one of the still-barely-functioning dimensional doors in the Sanctum, and if not, dying in there would hopefully be less bad than if they were right here, at the mercy of Dormammu, once the dimensional tyrant was done eviscerating him.

But then, right as he had depleted everything he had, right as no magic or hope was left, Mordo had changed everything, by striking at Dormammu and adding his power to the spell. Together, they’d succeeded at powering up the banishment incantation Stephen had already completed.

He'd remained conscious through the end of the intense magical onslaught, just long enough to see the spell reach completion, causing Dormammu to disappear with a roar of fury, and then he was falling from the sky, idly wondering if the cloak would be able to prevent him from drowning now, but he didn't have enough energy left in himself to even be able to see whether he was about to fall in the water or on the shattered edges of the embankment.

 

Blackness took him like a blanket of merciful oblivion, for once freeing him of the pain he was almost constantly in.

 

\---

 

He woke up groggy and unsure whether it had been minutes or hours.

He could feel the shallow waves lapping at his legs, and the rocks from the edge of the water were hard under his thighs and hips. His body seemed to be made of pain, the exhaustion from the magical expenditure combining with the considerable injuries he'd received and making him feel like a broken thing long past salvaging.

He knew he was dying, and part of him wished fate had been merciful enough to take him while he was unconscious, but then, it was never so easy with him, was it?

 

It took him a moment longer before he was coherent enough to realize that the reason why his upper body wasn't on the ground was because he was laying with his torso on Mordo’s lap.

Unexpectedly, Karl had propped him up and was cradling his head with one arm. It was such an out-of-place situation that for a moment Stephen seriously thought he was hallucinating, but something told him it was real. In his dreams Mordo never looked so shaken.

“Karl. Wow. Thank you for-” He heard himself croak, surprised by how broken his own voice sounded.

Mordo interrupted him. “Shut up, I only did it so I could kill you myself.”

 

Stephen took shallow breaths, trying to manage the amount of pain he was in order to stretch how long he managed to remained conscious. It was a method he was familiar with. Pain was an old friend after all.

“Maybe you should hurry then,” he breathed out. It wouldn't be much longer now. He figured he owed Mordo this much, at least.

The edge of his vision was darkening, and Mordo’s face above his came in-and-out of focus randomly. Despite that, he still noticed the pinched expression the older Sorcerer took on.

“Hang in there, Stephen.” The commanding tone of Mordo’s voice seemed mismatched with the expression on his face. “I told you I would be the one to take your life. I forbid you from going like this.”

“I’m dying, Karl. Nothing can stop it. So if you’re,” he struggled to speak, “going to do it, do it soon. I won't last much longer.”

His vision was swimming, black spots dancing in his eyes. He stared up at the sky anyway, in awe of how blue and alive it looked, blissfully relieved that it wasn't the psychedelic colors of the dark dimension.

“It's not such a bad death though, is it?” At least he would have saved the world one last time, and died doing it. It was better to go down that way than taken by surprise by one of his countless enemies, unable to even defend himself from how weakened he'd been lately.

 

Mordo had picked up the knife Stephen had cast aside earlier during the battle. He brought it up, then looked around them. When he spoke, it sounded almost like he was about to cry.

“Where do you want it? Heart or throat?”

Stephen wasn't sure how much longer he had, as breathing was becoming increasingly harder, but he found the strength to say, “Either. Go ahead.”  
Talking was getting more difficult now; his mouth was full of blood and it was hard to not choke on it. Swallowing was not an option; and it would only have made him more nauseous, anyway.

Mordo seemed to almost wince, and looked away again, scanning the area around them with an odd expression, as if he was expectantly waiting for someone to interrupt.  
He spent some time looking away. The sound of Stephen’s increasingly labored breathing was the only thing breaking the silence. Then, finally, Mordo moved.

Stephen was dimly aware of the arm around him holding him closer. The knife rose, and he realized it was now or never. “Karl, wait!”

Mordo’s hand stopped its descent immediately, and he taunted Stephen, “Are you going to beg me for a few more minutes of your miserable life? How low can you fall, Stephen?” The knife was still hovering over Stephen’s chest, ready to plunge at any moment. Mordo had a smirk on his face, but the cruelty in his voice seemed off, as if missing its usual edge.

“No, I…” Stephen struggled to get the words to come out, and when they did, they froze Mordo in place with how meaningful they were. ”I crave a boon!”

The last time Stephen had spoken those formal words, was when he begged the Ancient One to teach him.

Even so many years later, the memory was clear as daylight for both Mordo and him. Karl’s lips formed a thin line, his expression pained.

 

“If you have a last wish, speak it, Stephen. I'll see it done. Of this, I give you my word.”

 

He’d never thought Mordo would actually grant him this. He hadn’t even considered asking, until he saw Karl’s apparent uncertainty. And so, now that he was faced with the actual possibility, it was his turn to hesitate.

He looked up at Mordo with a tortured expression, then tried to see over his arm and figure out whether they were truly alone or whether Wong was somewhere nearby by now.

He had been so focused on Dormammu that he never realized that at some point, both Mr Misery and the Orb had disappeared. Maybe they fled because of Dormammu, but not knowing for sure left Stephen uneasy.  
Torn between what he actually wanted to ask from the bottom of his heart, and what he knew he should ask, he looked up at Mordo with a feverish gaze, choking on his own blood for a bit, desperately trying to remain conscious long enough to decide between duty and selfishness. Mordo looked vaguely alarmed.

Stephen knew what he had to do. He knew, and yet, it hurt so much to have to always pick humanity over the safety of those close to him. But it was a necessity.

Before he could speak, however, Mordo readjusted his grip to hold Stephen’s head at an angle that would better avoid choking, and offered him a mercy he’d never expected, “Just stop wasting my time and say your two wishes already.”

 _Really?!_ , Stephen wanted to ask. But he lacked the energy to make unnecessary conversation, and his surprise was evident enough in his expression. Mordo reacted to it with a look of irritation as soon as the shock registered on Stephen’s face, and the last thing the dying sorcerer wanted was for Mordo to change his mind.  
Of course, it was always possible that he would tell him his two most dear wishes and Mordo would then proceed to laugh in his face and rip out his heart. You never knew with Mordo, and over the years Stephen had had far too many disappointments.

But even with his increasingly blurry vision, he could still tell that Mordo’s oddly pained expression was sincere. The man was a permanent mystery, a walking contradiction between his words and his actions.

Stephen gathered his strength and spoke, “Make sure Wong and Zelma are safe. That Mr. Misery- the..the monster covered in eyes, doesn’t get them.”

Mordo made a show of sighing in annoyance. “Consider it done. What else?”

 

Stephen felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. Now came the most important part, but knowing his friends would be fine made him feel so much better already. He could almost forget his rapidly deteriorating body and imminent demise.

His eyes were slightly glazed over and he was shivering. With the new angle, blood was dripping from the side of his parted lips and down his chin, pooling onto the edge of the cloak and seeping into his clothes beneath.

Karl’s lips were pressed into a thin line again, his hard gaze riveted to the growing red stain on Strange’s tunic, the newest of a number of other ones stemming from the multiple wounds Stephen had taken during the fight with Dormammu. The shallow water they were still sitting in was pinkish around them, from where it touched Stephen. Even without the open wounds, the blunt trauma from each of Dormammu’s blows alone would have been enough to kill someone many times over.

In an odd, detached way, Stephen realized how much colder it was now, and that he couldn’t really feel much of his body anymore. And as a doctor, he easily spotted the signs of his internal organs shutting down. He was suddenly aware that whatever time he had left might now be counted in seconds rather than minutes.

With a renewed sense of urgency, he grasped Mordo’s hand --the one still holding the knife, over Stephen’s erratically-beating heart-- and begged him, “Take the Eye. From my chest.”

Stephen choked again and erupted in a fit of coughing, sending droplets of blood splattering between them, then pushed on through sheer determination, refusing to give up before he was sure. Because of Dormammu’s meddling, Mordo was now the most powerful Sorcerer left on Earth. He may have stumbled many times in his life, but if Stephen could get him to right himself now, he was their best hope. The only one with the power to protect the world. “It’s yours now. Please. You are. You have to be-”

“Stephen, no. Not this, not like this.” There was an edge of panic to his voice.

Mordo had wanted it, once. Had believed the title should be his. But that supposed victory tasted like ashes in his mouth now.

But Stephen wasn’t about to give up, no matter how hard it may be. “Earth. Earth...needs a--Please, Karl, p-” Blood was seeping out of his nose as well, now. He continued, nevertheless, “You are…the. Sorcerer Supreme...now. Please-”

Stephen’s shaking hand was gripping Mordo’s one so tightly that his knuckles were visibly white, even through the scars and all the bruises, blood and grime. But that desperate grip faltered and then went slack suddenly. Like a marionette with its strings cut off, Stephen’s hand slipped off from Mordo’s to fall at his side, right after his eyes unfocused and rolled up in his head. The tension from his neck was gone as well; his head lolled against Mordo’s chest.

It was perhaps fortunate for Mordo that they were alone, for the baron let out a sound like a wounded animal at that moment.

Quickly checking for a pulse at Stephen’s throat, Mordo breathed with relief when he found a heartbeat. It was faint, but it was there. Strange was alive, if only for a few seconds more. But he was unconscious and fading fast. Even if there had been medical attention immediately available, he would not be expected to ever wake again.

Mordo felt the outline of the Eye of Agamotto through his enemy’s bloodied tunic, and sobbed. He threw the knife aside and embraced Stephen’s unconscious body, burying his face against his neck and breathing through clenched teeth, feeling utterly filled with impotent rage and despondency. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to happen this way. _Damn you, Dormammu!_

And he was never supposed to feel this sad about Stephen dying.

It should have been glorious. He should have defeated him single-handedly, and ripped the Eye from him as he watched Stephen die bleeding at his feet. Mocked him as he watched the light fade from his eyes.

It should never have been with Stephen dying of wounds inflicted by someone else, in his arms, as he cried over his dying body. But then, it wasn’t really the first time something similar had happened to them, was it?

So many years ago, he’d found himself holding Stephen in a similar position. And Stephen had cried so much over him as well, when it had ended up being him dying in Stephen’s arms back then. No one had mourned his passing more deeply than Stephen. It felt like a lifetime away, and in a way, it was. So much pain in their lives. _Astrid..._

With one last angry sob, Mordo growled, “To hell with all of this. It won’t happen like this.”

He focused his power, feeling the magic rise around him, almost like a flame consuming the two of them, more pure and powerful than he remembered his own magic feeling in so long. He slumped forward over Stephen’s body and concentrated on the spell. Rocks and debris vibrated and floated off around them from the sheer amount of power Mordo was using.

 

From the corner of his mind’s eye, he thought that for a second he saw the Ancient One’s face smiling at them, but it had to be a trick his mind was playing on him.

 

\---

 

It must have been some time later, because the tide had receded at some point. Stephen came to his senses slowly, feeling like his head was stuffed full of cotton. He groaned softly, wondering how he could still be alive. The taste of his own blood was still thick in his mouth, and his body was weak and laden with pain, but brimming with life nevertheless.

Mordo shifted against him, and in an annoyed voice, asked, “Are you finally awake? Took you long enough.” He sounded like he was in pain.

Propping himself up, Mordo pulled him along gingerly into an awkward sitting position. Stephen couldn’t understand how he wasn’t dead yet, or how he was even conscious. He considered he might be dreaming, but as Mordo forced himself to stand with a grunt of pain, he saw the wounds on Karl’s midsection and gaped in surprise.

Mordo lifted him to his feet along with him, and Stephen leaned against him, too dizzy to stand by himself. They stayed like that, supporting one another, while Stephen’s mind raced through what it all meant, feeling the remaining wisps of energy from the spell wafting between them, tingling against his bare skin in the areas where his clothes were badly damaged, almost like a caress.

He remembered when he’d last felt that same spell, a time long ago, in Mordo’s castle, when Karl had taken a terminal cancer from his body and died to save him.

This time, Karl had used the spell to share his burden, taking onto himself half of the wounds that, combined, would have been fatal for Stephen. They were both badly wounded, but they would live.

Stephen felt a knot form in his throat at the memory of how he’d felt last time, how much he’d mourned Karl and how much he’d regretted what could have been between them. How he’d sobbed with his former enemy’s lifeless body in his arms while he brokenly told Hamir of how many years Mordo and him had wasted.  
They’d buried Mordo next to the Ancient One, then. But life and sorcery had a way to undo even the things they thought were forever, and neither that death nor the apotheotic change that had preceded it had stuck.

But maybe it wasn’t too late, after all. If their lives had proven anything, it was that the future was always open and any impossibility could be turned on its head.

Rather than pull away and put an end to the contact between them, possibly risking breaking the atmosphere of tentative truce in the air, Stephen embraced the moment, leaning his weary body against Mordo’s more fully, not hiding the vulnerability that he felt or the way he was still shaking from exhaustion and blood loss; leaving himself wide open in a display of trust.

Mordo sighed in fake annoyance, but instead of shoving him off, he allowed Stephen to put a hand on his shoulder for support.

Wrapping an arm around Stephen’s waist, Mordo supported his weight and led the way, helping him to unsteadily walk towards the buildings. Neither of them spoke, instinctively aware of the fragility of the moment, and neither wanting to break it.

Maybe they would still be enemies tomorrow, or maybe they would find a way to not lose this new chance that had been unexpectedly dropped on their laps. But for the time being, neither of them was in any hurry to disrupt the tantalizing peace between them.

And maybe, just maybe, for once fate would take pity on them, and let them give each other what they were both most dreadfully missing: Mordo a purpose in life that could finally give him the true fulfillment he’d been searching for all along, and Stephen a hand to pull him out of the abyss of loneliness he perpetually found himself in.

 

They had both suffered enough, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic doubles as a fill for [a prompt in the Doctor Strange kinkmeme.](https://doctorstrangekinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/156574654300)  
> The prompter didn't specify if they wanted MCU or comics, so hopefully it will be okay and they'll enjoy it.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Btw, because I must share the Strordo feels with everyone, the tragic Mordo redemption arc from the comics back from the 90's is amazing.  
>  **SPOILERS:** He gets cancer due to his use of dark magic for so many years, and decides to make amends and be a good person before he dies. Stephen thinks it's all a plot at first (can't blame him, Mordo has done a lot of betrayal over the years in the comics.) Things are super tragic and beautiful.  
>  **This thing from the fic is all from canon:**  
>  _Stephen felt a knot form in his throat at the memory of how he’d felt last time, how much he’d mourned Karl and how much he’d regretted what could have been between them. How he’d sobbed with his former enemy’s lifeless body in his arms while he brokenly told Hamir of how many years Mordo and him had wasted._  
>  Stephen literally told Hamir of how he regretted the years they had wasted.
> 
> Mordo also took care of Stephen **in his bed** in the Mordo castle. (That scene was incredibly intimate and heart-wrenching.)
> 
> Oh and he went as far as stabbing his own daughter (who had unfortunately turned out evil) to save Stephen, aside from giving his life to save him.
> 
> That arc is probably 85% of the reason why I ship comics!Strordo so hard too.


End file.
